Fenn looked from one to the other of his visitors and remained silent for a few seconds.

“Climbing down, eh?” he asked viciously.

“We have some information to communicate,” Julian announced.

Fenn moved abruptly away, out of the shadow of the electric lamp which hung over his desk.  His voice was anxious, unnatural.

“We can’t consider any more information,” he said harshly.  “Our decisions have been taken.  Nothing can affect them.  That’s the worst of having you outsiders on the board.  I was certain you wouldn’t face it when the time came.”

“As you yourself,” Julian remarked, “are somewhat concerned in this matter, I think it would be well if you came with the others.”

“I am not going to stir from this room,” Fenn declared doggedly.  “I have my own work to do.  And as to my being concerned with what you have to say, I’ll thank you to mind your own business and leave mine alone.”

“Mr. Fenn,” the Bishop interposed, “I beg to offer you my advice that you join us at once in the Council room.”

Julian and Catherine had already left the room.  Fenn leaned forward, and there was an altered note in his tone.

“What’s it mean, Bishop?” he asked hoarsely.  “Are they ratting, those two?”

“What we have come here to say,” the Bishop rejoined, “must be said to every one.”

He turned away.  Fenn and Bright exchanged quick glances.

“What do you make of it?” asked Fenn.

“They’ve changed their minds,” Bright muttered, “that’s all.  They’re theorists.  Damn all theorists!  They just blow bubbles to destroy them.  As for the girl, she’s been at parties all the evening, as we know.”

“You’re right,” Fenn acknowledged.  “I was a fool.  Come on.”

Many of the delegates had the air of being glad to escape for a few minutes from their tasks.  One or two of them entered the room, carrying a cup of coffee or cocoa.  Most of them were smoking.  Fenn and Bright made their appearance last of all.  The latter made a feeble attempt at a good-humoured remark.

“Is this a pause for refreshments?” he asked.  “If so, I’m on.”

Julian, who had been waiting near the door, locked it.  Fenn started.

“What the devil’s that for?” he demanded.

“Just a precaution.  We don’t want to be interrupted.”

Julian moved towards a little vacant space at the end of the table and stood there, his hands upon the back of a chair.  The Bishop remained by his side, his eyes downcast as though in prayer.  Catherine had accepted the seat pushed forward by Cross.  The atmosphere of the room, which at first had been only expectant, became tense.

“My friends,” Julian began, “a few hours ago you came to a momentous decision.  You are all at work, prepared to carry that decision into effect.  I have come to see you because I am very much afraid that we have been the victims of false statements, the victims of a disgraceful plot.”